


Post Romanticism Theory

by burner-phone (Genius_Emma)



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Break Up, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Ian is kind of an ass, Reference to bad relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genius_Emma/pseuds/burner-phone
Summary: Set during and after Pascals Triangle Revisited~~~Relationships, dresses, teeth, and a champagne glass are all ruined in the same night. Professor Duncan becomes both a cause and solution.





	Post Romanticism Theory

"You're such an asshole! Yea you better drive away!” Your voice was shrill against the shattering of a champagne glass on the street. The back of the red Honda Civic honked back at you.  
  
Your boyfriend of 11 months had announced suddenly he was transferring to California and that you two were finished. He’d announced this, the night of his transfer.   
  
Then had "accidentally" knocked the taco meat all over your brand new dress.   
  
You were livid, and more than a little intoxicated.   
  
"Fucking ass! Eat a dick!" You screamed into the air. It was ever so slightly damp out, and the thin layers of the dress didn’t cut the wind at all.   
  
"Heyyyy calm down. Put down any weapons so you don’t swing them at me.” A familiar British drawl sounded behind you. "Because I need my keys, and apparently you're where the taco meat ended up."   
  
“Hey Professor.” You rolled your eyes.   
  
"Hey! S'not an insult. Minus the grease and dead cow, your dress is-" He gestured, searching for the word. "Ffucking hot I suppose."   
  
"At least someone thinks I look good.” You smoothed the stained fabric, wiping your hands on a clean part. The whole thing was going in the bin after this disastrous night anyway.   
  
"Ahhhhh a breakup!" Duncan raised his eyebrows, waving the bottle of vermouth he’d obviously stolen. “Is that the source of the taco meat fiasco?”   
  
"Yea. Transfers to break up with me, didn’t even tell me until 5 minutes ago." You crossed your arms, shaking your head.   
  
"Well for the record, that guy’s a dumbass." The professor offered you the bottle. You knew you’d had enough alcohol to last, and the words of your ex sounded in your brain.

 

_“Sweetheart you shouldn’t drink so much.”_

 

Man fuck him. You snatched the bottle and downed as much as you could before coughing the rest of it onto the pavement.  
  
"Holy shit, that was vodka." Duncan took the bottle back, his hand finding its way to your shoulder. "Anyway if you find my keys, find me."

“In a vermouth bottle?” You yelled as he turned away. Typical. Why should you expect anything different from Greendale. Duncan didn’t reply, instead staggering back inside.

You checked your purse to find slimy keys belonging to Duncan's blue smart car.  
  
"Fuck fuck fuck." The vodka hit you while you were sitting at a table in the cafeteria, head in your hands. You should have gotten a drink of water.   
  
Except instead, you walked in to watch Ian Duncan get physically assaulted.   
  
"Hey hey hey!" You remembered his keys and shot forward, trying to disentangle him from Senor Chang. Some other teachers grabbed Chang, leaving you with Duncan. The dean was yelling something, something to do with Duncan.   
  
"Aw fuck. Why didn’t this blasted country bomb China instead of Japan?" His voice was muffled by his bloody hand over his nose.   
  
"Right. Hospital. I have your keys." You tried to shake the cloudiness from your brain.   
  
"No- NO!” Duncan tried to shout through his hand. “DO NOT LET THIS WOMAN DRIVE MY CAR! SHE HAS A BROKEN HEART AND IS COVERED IN TACO ME-”   
  
"Asshole!" You shouted, digging in your purse and finding the keys. They almost slipped out of your hand as you yanked them out and stepped forward to cram them into Duncan's mouth. "Have fun driving yourself."   
  
"Bitch." Duncan spat the keys into his hand.   
  
"Hey woah." Some guy was stepping forward, taking Duncan's keys. "Lady, back off. Professor, let's go."   
  
"Not a professor anymore!" The former Spanish teacher yelled from somewhere across the gym.   
  
~   
  
That was about all you remembered the next morning.   
  
"Man. Fuck Professor Duncan." You groaned, clutching your head. All of last night’s food and alcohol had ended up in the toilet, and the dress crammed into a plastic bag and thrown in the trash.

Even after a shower, you still swore you smelled faintly of taco meat.  
  
And after the business of cleaning up, the realization that your now ex boyfriend was gone sunk in soon after, leaving a heavy cloud over you. Half your pictures ended up in the garbage, along with a lot of tissues.

 

You had a few more loose ends to tie up at Greendale, mostly turning in late papers.  
  
"Hey! Taco meat!" You were interrupted on your way back from Middle Eastern Philosophy. "Wait! I can't run!"   
  
"Wha-?" You spun to stare into the panting, bandaged face of Professor Duncan.   
  
"I'm sorry." He waved a hand at you. "For last night. I'm a- fucking dick sometimes."   
  
"It's fine- I guess.” You shrugged. “I mean, shoving your keys in your teeth was kinda a dick move too."   
  
"Oh, have you seen these things?" Duncan laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "If anything chipping one of them was an improvement. Point is, I really do feel bad. You didn't mean any harm." His hair and wrinkled clothes looked like he’d spent the night outside. You wouldn’t be surprised.

You gestured to the bandage. "That thing gonna be ok?"   
  
"It's just a little broken. Gonna file a restraining order on Chang, and figure out what exactly being suspended means since it’s over the summer." He waved a hand.   
  
"Nice." You nodded, both of you turning to continue in opposite directions. He’d gotten suspended?   
  
"Wait- oh god I can't believe this." Duncan spun back around, then pointed at you. "Hey, it occurred to me. You got dumped."   
  
"Oh that's right you saw that." You groaned. Why was he bringing it up?   
  
"If you need anyone to talk to, or drown your sorrows, I can do both, simultaneously even, call me." He grabbed your hand, a pen appearing. He proceeded to scribble his number on your forearm.

“Yea. Thanks. Have a good summer Professor.” You nodded, turning around for good this time.

As you left you swore you heard the mutter of “what the bloody hell was that you idiot?”

Much to your surprise, you found yourself saving the number in your phone.

And about a month later, dialing it.


End file.
